Anything goes, really

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I still keep the stress ball you gave me. You gave it to me at the right time, just when I was panicking about the major test I was about to have in the next few hours then. In the middle of cramming, we got together and had lunch. My mind was drifting off to the test topics I was trying to remember when you called me back to consciousness and showed me what you nicked from the org room. “It was lying there and I secretly got it. It reminded me of you.” You smiled and, immediately, all the voices in my head started to hush. A certain calm took over me and it was one that I needed. You gave it to me. You were always the calm one.

So, tell me, even after all the neverending conversations, stolen glances, and secret smiles, you never felt anything for me?

When I told you how I felt about you, this was the thing I feared the most–the awkwardness, that silence preceding how we would eventually drift apart. You see, that was one of the things I was thinking of, when I was having an internal debate on whether I should do it or not. In the end, I did. And now, we’re here.

In your letter, you told me how you would understand me if I would stay away from you for a while, for me to “let my feelings fade.” Then, when the feelings are gone, we can go back to being the kind of friends we were before. We’d go back to normal. I hope it was that easy, how taking some time off from each other would erase what happened (or didn’t happen) between us. But the thing is, it can’t.

There are times when I wish I didn’t tell you that I liked you. If I didn’t, maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation. Maybe we wouldn’t be walking on broken glass, careful to say words that might hurt the other (or at least hint at how hurt we–or, at least, I–are). This is what the time off from each other is for, for both of us to heal. Or, for the most part, for me to heal, to move on. You already told me you only see me as your best friend. Even though I would’ve prefered you tell me how much you like me too, that’s still better than nothing. I can live with that. At least I know I hold a special place in your heart.

Even though it’s only been a few days since we last talked, I realized how being MIA won’t help us that much. We’ve opened a Pandora’s Box of some sort. We can’t go back to how we were before; we can’t undo what was done nor pretend it didn’t happen because it did. By the time we see each other again for coffee after a period of being absent from each other’s lives, I bet the feelings would come rushing in. All those weeks spent in covering up the dust left by unrequited feelings and unreturned ones will probably go to waste. In that single moment, by the time I see you and your dazzling smile, I know how my heart will beat twice its regular rhythm, like it’s been conditioned to be that way whenever you’re there. Or maybe, it won’t beat that fast but I know there will be a whisper in my ear, saying, “That’s the guy you loved.”

So, I think it’s best if we let time take the reins. No complete detachment for both of us. We can still talk to each other, ask how we’re doing, have random conversations that made me fall for you in the first place. It will be awkward at the start, I know, but isn’t that how we started as friends? Maybe, in time, the feeling will fade, you might learn to like me, or we will still be hurting for both of our loves that were unreturned. But at least we didn’t drift apart. Did I tell you how I have the bad habit of just letting my friendships fade?

People ask me what makes you different from the others. I always tell them that what we had was based on a solid friendship, one we carefully built without the prying eyes of others. It is one which grew from a common love of Fall Out Boy and all the other bands and songs we spent listening to, each song bringing up different memories from both of us. It is a relationship which was a result of seeing each other’s vulnerabilities and secrets, and accepting them without hesitations.

And I guess that’s why I won’t let this friendship fade. I’ll hold on to you, to us. You can tell me to let go (for a while) but I won’t. I choose not to. For now, let me be a friend, if that’s all I can ever be.

You told me that when I talked to you after you guys lost. Of course, that’s one of the things you were worrying about. With the referee making bad calls and some members of the opposing team playing it rough, you couldn’t help but make a short outburst while on court. On the side, she was watching the game, too. It was her first basketball game. She had no idea about basketball.

In my head, I would’ve told you, “It doesn’t matter.” If I were her, I would’ve liked to see more of that side–the things that make you tick, what annoys you, how and when you get angry. Your bad side is what makes you you, along with the good. Without them, I don’t think you would become the person I have learned to love. You were enough.

I accept you, for all that you are. But I know it is not my acceptance you’re yearning for.

We existed in the strange in-between of the possible and the probable. It was in the unsaid, in the expected, in the logical next steps. Our friends accepted it, anticipated it, shook their heads and said, “It’s only a matter of time.” They’d ask sly questions and accuse us outright, and all we ever managed were shy smiles and hopeful maybes. We were almost dating. We almost dated.

But almost doesn’t count for much. Almost doesn’t bridge the gap from “not quite” to “yes.”

When you almost date someone, it’s not because you’re only doing things by halves. Everything depends on the build and the anticipation in that gray area of maybe. You do not keep your secrets from them, do not laugh at half the volume, do not kiss them with only half the intensity. Maybe you’re shy about how you feel. Maybe you hold back there, but that’s…

There are few things more instinctively terrifying to a 20-something girl than being alone. It is crippling and demoralizing, forcing you to resort to a desperate defensiveness. “I choose to be alone, I wanted this.” But, as with all things that seem incredibly difficult at this age, when it is forced upon you, you will learn to adapt to it. You adopt it as a part of your nature. You get used to it and it stops bothering you so much.

The first and hardest lesson you have to learn is that there are different dimensions of aloneness, and the loneliest ones of all are the least expected. While waking up by yourself when you have a secret want for morning warmth will be felt acutely, being alone with company is a whole different animal. You will learn a specific, biting type of alienation that is drunken aloneness when you…

1. I donated blood today. Fainted a few minutes right after. Good thing SpOpen Mic Night was just across the corner.
2. Ken slipped, then had part of his chin torn open when he got up. I panicked, he didn’t; I was 16, he was just 7.
3. I heard my parents have sex once. From then on, I told myself to sleep early whenever my dad’s around.
4. Your favorite color was red and after we broke up, I told myself I wouldn’t like red anymore. I still do.
5. My friends tell me they can’t imagine me being angry. I tell them, I become a sailor.
6. It was a good thing it was a Saturday when I first got my period. I woke up with my shorts soaked in blood. Then, after cleaning up, I jumped three flights of stairs. Good thing they didn’t wipe my face with the stuff.
7. I first had a crush on someone when I was in Grade 5. I’ve always imagined us kissing in some room while everyone was out. We never did.
8. Yet, I first truly fell in love when I was in 6th Grade. I fell in love with how he always told me interesting stories, how he played basketball really well, and how he smelled really nice everyday. Then, he started avoiding me. It was like a sad love song stretched out for more than 4 minutes.